Chapter 19 Iris #3
The world comes undone in these few precious moments.
Every second I have ever spent wondering what it would feel like to let myself want someone again converges on me.
I watch his profile in the glow of the Christmas lights.
The strong line of his jaw, the way his lashes catch the light when he blinks, the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re not singing,” he says softly, glancing down at me, and there is something in his face that steals my breath away.
“Neither are you,” I manage, his thumb traces circles over mine. Each touch sends sparks racing up my arm, and I wonder if he can feel my pulse jumping beneath his fingers. His movement stills suddenly, and he frowns.
“Your hands are freezing.” His other hand comes up to cover mine completely, and the contrast between his warmth and my cold skin makes me shiver.
Without letting go, he brings our joined hands closer to his face, breathing warm air over my numbed fingers.
The intimacy of the gesture makes my chest tight.
It’s been a while since the last time I felt this drawn to someone.
In fact, I can’t remember if I ever have.
Not this intensely, at least. “Here,” he murmurs, and then he’s pulling me closer, tugging my hands beneath the open front of his coat.
The movement brings us chest to chest, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him now.
A snowflake lands on his collar, and I watch it melt into the dark blue wool.
His breath fans across my face, warm and sweet from the hot chocolate, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine.
My cold fingers press against the warmth of his sides through his sweater, and I feel the slight catch in his breath at the contact.
When I shift slightly, trying to find my balance this close to him, my hands slide inadvertently along his ribs, and the muscles beneath his black sweater tense at my touch.
What are you doing? I scold myself. Why am I torturing myself like this?
I can’t even try to deny the way he makes me feel.
“Better?” he asks, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges.
This close, I can see the way his pupils dilate, the slight part of his lips as he looks down at me.
His hands cover mine through his coat, keeping them pressed against him, and even through layers of clothes I can feel the heat of his skin.
“I...” The word comes out breathless. I try again, but looking up at him is like staring into the sun.
Too bright, too warm, too everything. “Yes,” I manage, the word barely more than a whisper.
His lips curve into a soft smile, and I find myself tracking the movement.
My fingers flex unconsciously against him, and his hands tighten over mine in response.
“I can’t feel my nose,” I say inanely, because it’s easier than admitting how his proximity is making it hard to think.
His quiet laugh brushes across my face, and I realize I’m swaying closer.
The crowd moves into “O Holy Night,” and I watch a snowflake land on his cheek, melting instantly against his skin.
Without thinking, I reach up to brush away the drop of water, but his hand catches mine before I can pull away.
He holds it there, pressed against his face, and the world narrows to just this.
His skin warm beneath my cold fingers, his eyes dark and intent on mine.
“Iris,” he murmurs. In all the times he’s said my name, it’s never sounded quite like this.
I’ve imagined this moment a hundred different ways.
In dreams, in quiet moments alone, in the spaces between heartbeats, but nothing prepared me for the reality of him.
When he cups my face, fingers tangling in my hair as he draws me closer, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
As natural as breathing, to rise up on my toes, to press myself against the solid warmth of him as his mouth finds mine.
His other hand presses into the small of my back, and the heat of his palm bleeds through my coat, igniting every nerve ending beneath.
His lips are soft against mine, tentative at first, like he’s mapping out the shape of them.
I feel the slight roughness of winter-chapped skin, taste the remnants of hot chocolate on his breath.
When my fingers fist into his sweatshirt, he makes a sound low in his throat that vibrates through my chest. His thumb traces the line of my jaw as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss with a slow deliberation that makes my knees weak.
The kiss shifts, transforms into something that makes me forget we’re surrounded by half the town.
His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I part for him on a sigh, feeling the way his hands tighten in response.
Mine move up his body, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingers and when his tongue slides against mine, heat blooms in my chest and spreads outward.
Someone could have set off fireworks and I wouldn’t have noticed.
There is only this, only him, only the way his heart hammers against mine when I gasp into his mouth.
My fingers find their way into his hair, softer than I imagined, and he pulls me impossibly closer.
The crowd and carols fade to background noise, less real than his fingers in my hair and the steady fall of snow around us.
Minutes slip past unmarked. I couldn’t say if we’ve been here seconds or hours, only that the wind is starting to pick up, piercing through my coat and I don’t seem to care.
Cheers erupt around us as the massive tree blazes to life, casting us in a kaleidoscope of colored light, but we barely notice.
When we break apart, breathing hard, his forehead rests against mine.
I feel dizzy, anchored only by his hands still holding me steady.
Snowflakes dance around us, catching in his dark curls, and I realize the singing has stopped, replaced by the happy chatter of the crowd admiring the lights.
A child’s delighted laugh rings out somewhere behind us.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers, his hands running up and down my arms.
“Just cold,” I lie. His answering laugh is rough and low. I feel it rumble through his chest where we’re still pressed together.
“Liar,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against my temple.
His breath tickles my skin as he traces a path down my face—a soft kiss below my ear that makes me shiver, another at the corner of my jaw that steals my breath, one more at the edge of my mouth that has me turning instinctively toward him, chasing the warmth of his lips.
He’s right. Standing here in his arms, with Christmas lights reflecting off the snow and his heart beating steady against mine, I’ve never felt warmer in my life.